


Camp

by whiterabbit1613



Series: The October 13 [11]
Category: Pundit RPF (US)
Genre: Fiction, Flash Fiction & Vignettes, Gen, Humor, Literature, prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-31
Updated: 2010-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-12 13:48:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiterabbit1613/pseuds/whiterabbit1613
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Keith, Jon, Anderson and Stephen all belong to themselves and their respective broadcast networks, I suppose.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Camp

**Author's Note:**

> Keith, Jon, Anderson and Stephen all belong to themselves and their respective broadcast networks, I suppose.

The October 13: Day 11  
Fandom: Pundit's Round Table  
Prompt: midnight  


 

     "Oh would you quit it!" Jon shrieked, and Stephen tumbled backwards to the ground, laughing his ass off. 

     Keith smirked. "I've never seen you quite so jumpy, Stewart. Scared of the boogeyman?"

     Jon sniffed, huddling further into his blanket. It was a perfectly clear, chilly autumn night; _perfect camping weather_ Rachel had said, which was why Jon, Stephen, Keith and Anderson had ended up pitching their tent in her rural backyard. They'd all spent the evening toasting marshmallows over a little campfire, but Rachel and Susan had gone back to the house, leaving the guys to tell ghost stories and shoot the shit. 

     "Leave the poor man alone," Anderson said, dryly. "It's the witching hour, after all."

     Jon glared at him. "You're such a jerk. Why did I ever become friends with you in the first place?"

     "Cause I'm cute?" Anderson speared two marshmallows onto a stick and held them over the glowing embers of the fire. "Also I'm, like, the only real newsperson who respects you."

     "Bu-urn," said Stephen, giggling anew. 

     "Bri-wi respects me!" cried Jon with a pout. 

     Keith snorted and tossed a marshmallow at his head. "Keep telling yourself that. He just uses you for your audience share."

     "He's so much cooler than you," added Stephen, "but it makes him feel hip to go on your show."

     As Jon sulked in his corner, Anderson removed the perfectly cooked marshmallows from the fire, and expertly made two s'mores, handing one to Keith, who took it with relish.

     "I don't know how you do it, Andy," he said, looking at the s'more with a predatory gleam in his eye. "They're perfect _every single time_."

     "I'm magic." 

     Keith bit into it and moaned.

     Stephen shuddered. "Please, Keith, never make that noise in my presence ever again."

     "Shut up," Keith replied, but it lost some of its venom since the marshmallow had practically glued his teeth together.

     "Want a s'more, Jon?" Anderson asked, offering him the other sandwich by way of truce. Jon took it eagerly and practically swallowed it in one bite.

     Stephen squinted at him, forehead creased unhappily. "So what, you like them better than me?"

     "Don't make me answer that question," said Anderson with a laugh. "You won't like it."

     He stabbed two more marshmallows for the fire, and stole one for himself.


End file.
